Aged seventy, stranded on the veranda,
with nothing but a cocktail to soothe.
Bone dry gin stacked with vermouth,
kept cold by citrus flavoured cubes
Shoo’d into a cool bag back home.
Alone, I was not sure of my way,
while my daughter who’d insisted I come,
though I still don’t know why,
was sighing over some handsome stranger deep inside.
Sometimes you have to re-arrange your night.
I had keys to the Range Rover,
There was a sat. nav. to talk to
But feeling faintly unsteady, I reeled against a wall,
deciding to walk.
I could always burble my way along any highway
So two feet took me murmuring as i swerved down the road.
Through the last remnants of the hour
that lurks before dawn.